Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The wheel rips out of my hands.
It cranks full right on its own, tires screaming against the camber, and the throttle stays buried with my boot nowhere near it. I lock both arms around it and wrench left. The wheel fights back, turning itself while the corner arrives through my windshield.
Punk bursts back through. “ASHER, THE CAR’S—”
Her voice cuts out.
A new audio file opens on the display. Ivy laughs as the Aston mounts the curb and strikes the tunnel wall.
Concrete fills the windshield, dropping away when the car rolls, glass spitting over my face before everything goes to black.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
IVY
Death was never going to come easy for me, even though I’d spread my legs for it on multiple occasions.
Humanity. Such a fickle inconvenience.
The blade lands in my open palm with every flick while the ocean throws itself against the glass wall of this awfully sanitized hellhole.
“Are you worried?” the pest opposite me asks, sprawled across a two-seater sofa with her arms spread wide.
I smirk, holding her smug stare. “Not as worried as you should be, considering it’s just you and I in here—“ I tilt my head and pretend to examine her posture. “—and would you look at that? You’re already in the Blood Eagle stance.”
Her mouth drops at the same time as her arms.
I roll my eyes and go back to my knife. I’m bored and understimulated. Silly me for thinking Emeric would unleash me onto the streets. Of course he has a plan.
Over the past two days I’ve picked up plenty. For one, everything in this place is sterile. Polished concrete, deep-set LED strips. The main hallway loops on and on with no visible doors, yet walls open up for you if you press on them right.
Strange mind-fuck of a building.
This room is different. A whole wall made of glass where I’m guessing the cliff used to be.
Camille sighs, pushing up from the sofa. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Cool!” I ignore her, annoyed with her overshare.
What the fuck is taking Emeric so long anyway?
I reach for the phone on the small table, tapping the screen a few times before putting it back.
Camille returns just as the main door slams open on Aléia, and behind her, Emeric.
It takes me a second to look at what he’s pushing in, and when my eyes land on the gurney, I lift slowly out of my chair.
“What is this?” I ask, catching the blade at the handle without taking my eyes off him.
A bloody arm slides to the side, and—wait. I recognize those tattoos.
He’s not moving.
Thud. Thud.
“This!” Emeric gestures to him like a prized fucking fish he caught. “Is your gift.”
My mouth snaps shut.
He must read my expression because his brows dip inward. “Yes, for your hard work. Now, come…”
I can’t move. My muscles seize, everything in me locking up.
“Mariee…” he drawls, his voice drifting in and out. “Do I have to repeat myself?”
“Not at all,” I say, blinking up at my father.
I tighten my grip on the blade. Each step hits somewhere in my fucking chest.
Odd. Would prefer it not do that.
Metallic hits my nose, mixed with… what is that?
One more step and his face comes into view. Split lip, blood dried into his eyebrow, lashes stuck together with it. My fingers go numb around the handle.
“Jesus, you’re slow—here! I’ll fucking do it!” Camille shoulder-barges past me but doesn’t get far before I grab her by the hair and tug her back.
“Ouch!” she screams, stepping back behind me.
Another step.
The blade in my left sheath finds my hand, and without looking away from Asher, I slice clean across Aléia’s throat.
Camille’s screams erupt behind me, people moving at the edge of my vision. No doubt Emeric has slithered off like a fucking snake, but I don’t care. I don’t care about a fucking thing except that he’s…
I drop to Asher’s side, cupping his head. “Oh my God. What did he do?” I whisper, his blood once again on my hands.
Asher laughs, and then winces, clutching where the piece is sticking out of his side.
I slap his hand away. “Leave it! It’s what’s stopping you from bleeding out.”
Punk stares at Asher. “Ivy! We need to—”
“—I’m fucking fine!” Asher snaps, trying to sit up. “You and me!” He glares. “We gotta talk.”
I narrow my eyes. “Mmmm, maybe we should knock him out…”
His hand flies to my throat and he pulls me close to his face. “Unless you’re gonna do that by riding my dick to sleep, I’d suggest you fucking don’t. Atlas!” he yells, keeping his eyes fixed on me.
Atlas crashes through the door, takes one look at Asher, and his face pales.
“Get—Ivy—out!”
I open my mouth.
“—and Camille.”
It snaps shut, and cold crawls up the back of my neck.
Asher’s mouth tips. “Oh, not so smug now?”
“Fuck you.”
And I mean it, because when all this adrenaline dies and I know Asher is fine, we really are gonna fight.